My Guts Create A Tapestry - Poetry

44. Nunca Acaba

The Bliss

Eternity seemed like a promise, your stars aligning mine. The only cycle was of the moon, the selenite smiled to possess gloom. Never did I imagine you to be my years, sweetest words to ban the sickness. I could never claim my depressions and you placed moons in my eyes, I'm not pretty yet you see me in newest lights. There's nothing I can say, you are an elysian creation and a gift of the goddesses. Angelic is your stance, and our tone, and you made me claim traits that I'd never known. We share the blessings of the tree by looking into each other's soul and you are my remedy, as I am yours. I could never dislike you, only my insides. And yet, you still say they're beautiful compared to your own contents. That is no truth, I can see right through you.

The Silence

And then, it all turned to an inkiest black and a reminiscent green takes us back through the nights. I couldn't see a reason and my instincts were sticky with berry so they clinged at all these opportunities. Our relationship slipped into a coma, a terror not predictable. There was no other cure to your ignorance. You're speaking in tones I can't read, accents I can't see. Poison trees running through, they aren't through. No price is eternally paid when the eternal purity is soiled. You are never going to know and I am never going to pretend. Our relationship is cleansed yet soiled in pain. Nightshades regrow their berries but they become no sweeter, but you're not wrong to try and I'm still giving you pettiest pieces created by my disorderly mind. Corpses can't cry, they can only remain as they died. Yet, people cling to them like a grape to its vine. Covetousness is the cure to a cyclical life, the tektite is beneath our pillows at night in a protest to keep away our plights.

The Constant

You can see the confusion as the tension evaporates, you are okay. Problems ran away to the road and abandoned me, and I accepted that you and I remained. Couldn't be the same, I yelled. Now I lay in pain as I realise that I committed sin, you're not a problem. Bliss is our constant. Prettiest girl I've ever seen, you claim we are royalty. Looking at the altar, I admit all my pain to my deities. This isn't right, and pretending to be okay isn't me. Yet, I repeat that misty mornings aren't an eternity. Maybe I looked at the poignant properties rather than the reality of the nightshade's purple beauty.

The Corpses

And again, the bee takes the pollen and creates the honey. The honey is gone, and the bee takes pollen again. Sickly sweet is our relationship and you stone the negativity. Yet, it comes back to bite and clasps the positivity you create, innate. I knew that the poison's revenge only grows in our veins. You promised that we could be better, but I know the tree. I feel its pain because of our neglect. The bees at least keep their loyalty, because now is it bees you see? All that I see are innocent little kids with a taste for exploration and their grim beds, and those kids are you and I. The purple berry juice is curating poisons inside, and they become concentrated with lies. The poison tree takes its victim, and our casualties are on a pedestal. Nobody looked as, even they claimed that you and I are destined to die. You're in denial that they knew all along and you don't see your perfidious skin and the darkest colour of the song. I'd kill myself again and sing of the poison tree alone, because every memory you created is not what a nightshade should own and despite your dreams you are not remaining my clone.

© Sincerely, ♡ - June 2023